Touch
by steelcrash
Summary: More than 70 years alone in the ice has left Steve Rogers starved for companionship and warmth. Rated T for now. Eventual Steve RogersxNatasha RomanovxAgent Coulson
1. Chapter 1

Touch

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Four damn days he hasn't slept. He's tried everything from laying down and closing his eyes to going for a run and boxing at the gym, but nothing works. Steve Rogers can't take much more of it. His body will repair itself, but nothing can stop the memories playing over and over in his head, or take away the loneliness he feels. The whiskey in front of him does nothing but burn, and it's a waste of time. But he likes the feel of the stuff on his tongue and how it burns as it goes down his throat. Except it doesn't dull the pain of loss or how deprived he's feeling. Deprived of everything normal. Maybe he's just feeling sorry for himself, but he doesn't care anymore.

He thinks maybe that thought is the lack of sleep talking. He pours another shot, tossing it back, sets down the glass, leans back, closing his eyes, praying for sleep to come. But it doesn't. Rogers knows he should call Banner or Fury or someone that could help, but they probably can't. He's unique. No one can replicate what was done to him, and no one really knows how extensive the changes are to his body. He does. Right now, it's a waking nightmare and nothing will change it.

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The night was still young. Plenty to do, but Natasha Romanov just wasn't in the mood anymore. Her companion for the evening, Pepper Potts, had to cut the evening short due to circumstances beyond her control-Tony Stark. So much for their girls night out, but it was all right. Clint was out of town on assignment, so she was on her own. She decided she'd pay a call on Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. She hadn't seen him in a while. Well, none of them had. He kept to himself most of the time. With things so quiet lately, she and the others were enjoying the downtime. Stark and Banner worked together almost everyday on their various science projects, Fury was saving her and Clint for top-level assignments when they came up because they were needed as Avengers. Rogers came around once in a while, but they all figured he was happier on his own. They hadn't seen Thor since the Chitauri incident, but he would come if he was needed.

Another person in their circle was just happy to be back at work. Agent Phil Coulson finally had the doctor and Fury's blessing to come back to work on light duty. A few hours a day, but he was over the moon, having been given the assignment as the Avengers' handler. Another area that was quieting down. Natasha remembered the day Fury told them all Coulson was still among the living, but that was a memory to reflect on another time. Her cab was pulling up in front of Rogers' building. She paid the driver, got out, walking up to the building, buzzing in. It was an old building, and the elevator was out. Leave it to Rogers to pick the oldest place he could find.

She finally got to his door, and knocked, waiting. The door opened a few moments later, and Natasha's eyes widened when she saw Rogers.

"You look like hell," she said. His hair was mussed, he had dark circles under his eyes and he smelled like whiskey.

"Hello to you to, Natasha," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd come check up on you," Natasha said. "Now I'm glad I did. What's up?"

"Nothing," he said.

"Aren't you going to ask me in?" she said, eyebrow raised. Normally he was polite, but not so much tonight.

"I'm not really in the mood for company," Rogers said.

"You look like you could use company to me," Natasha said, shouldering past him and into the apartment, walking into the kitchen. He followed, watching her take down another glass. She took off her coat and sat down, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring herself a drink. "If you don't want to talk, at least you don't have to drink alone."

He frowned, but sat down anyway. She poured whiskey into his glass. "Drink up."

"It doesn't do any good," he said. "Nothing does."

"What's going on?" Natasha asked.

"I don't need to burden anyone with my problems," Rogers said.

"It's not a burden if you share it," Natasha said. "We're friends. At least I thought we were. Friends help each other out."

"We are friends," Rogers said.

"Good," Natasha said. "But if you won't tell me what's wrong, I think I have a pretty good idea just from looking at you. Not sleeping?"

"No," Rogers answered.

"How long?" she asked.

"Four days now," he said.

"I've had sleepless nights, but never that long before," she said.

"It happens sometimes," Rogers said, downing his whiskey.

"Even you need sleep," Natasha said. "Have you thought about talking to Banner? Maybe he can come up with something."

"Can he make the highlight reel in my head stop playing or bring back everyone I care about?" Rogers asked.

Oh. So that was it.

"No," she said. "If you want to talk, or just want some company, call one of us. Or just come over. Stark's always talking about how he never sees you. We're supposed to be a team, but you're not being much of a team player."

"Spare me," Rogers said. "You've obviously got other things to do than hang around here, from the way you're dressed."

"My night is over," Natsha said. "Pepper and I were having a girls night out, but Stark cut it short. Unless you want to come out with me."

"I don't feel like it," Rogers said.

"Fine. Then I'll just stay here tonight. The weather's getting bad anyway, and Clint's off on an op."

"What?"

"Weather. Freezing outside. Snow," Natasha said.

"Great," he said. "That makes this all so much better."

"You don't like the cold, and you don't want to be alone," she said. "Can't say I blame you. The cold always reminds me of home. . .what used to be home. Not a happy memory. I'll help you finish the whiskey, then we'll turn in."

"You're serious about staying?" Rogers asked.

"I am," Natasha said, pouring herself half of the whiskey that was left. She handed him the bottle.

"What if I don't want you to?"

"You'll find me very hard to remove," Natasha said.

"Even if I ask you to leave?" Rogers said.

"Yes," Natasha said, tossing back the amber liquid.

"I'll take the couch then," Rogers said. "Not like I'll be able to sleep anyway."

"No, you won't take the couch," Natasha said, standing, heading for the closed door she assumed was his bedroom. Opening the door, she felt for the light switch, flipping it on. I was his bedroom. Small and spartan, the bed was made with Army precision.

"Are you coming or not?" she yelled.

He walked in, watching Natasha kick off her shoes.

"Unzip me," she said, turning around, presenting him with the back of her dress. His fingers fumbled with the tiny zipper pull before he finally managed to get a grip and unzipped the dress. She stripped down to her slip, throwing the dress over the back of a chair, noticing Rogers was staring at her, blushing.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Rogers said, watching Natasha fold down the covers of the bed, climbing in,

"Turn off the lights," she said. "You should at least try and rest."

He sighed, flipping off the lights, coming over, sitting down on the edge of the bed, then laid down, scooting as far away from her as he could, which wasn't far, considering the size of the bed.

"What is wrong with you?" Natasha asked.

"I've never shared a bed with a girl before," Rogers said.

Natasha's turn to sigh. He'd probably never had a woman invade his bedroom and half-strip in front of him either.

"Relax. I'm not going to bite," she said. "Turn over on your side. We'll spoon. It's the only way we'll both fit anyway."

Rogers did as ordered, rolling over on his side, away from her, as close to the side of the bed as he could manage without falling off.

"Scoot a little closer," Natasha said, again, he did as he was told, and she settled in against him, gently draping her arm across his middle. "Good night."

He didn't answer, only staring into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Touch

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Natasha woke. Rogers was actually asleep. She slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him. She resettled the covers over him, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes. She bent down, placing a kiss on his cheek. He looked better. A little. Turning away, she dressed, grabbing her coat. Somebody had to do something.

A cab ride across town later, and she was back at Stark Tower, where she shared an apartment with Clint. He'd been gone several days, but she wasn't expecting to find him home so soon, sitting on the couch, staring at her as she walked in.

"Nat, where have you been?" Clint asked.

"I stayed with Rogers last night," she said.

"You what?"

"He looked awful," Natasha said, but she stopped. Why did she have to explain anything to Clint? She could just drag him over and show him how bad it was.

"Let me get changed, then we're going back over," she said. "We can talk on the way. Why didn't you call and tell me you were back?"

"How was I supposed to know you weren't on assignment?" he countered. "Rogers is a grown man, and he can take care of himself. Why do you need to drag me back out in this weather and bother him?'

"I think he could use some company," Natasha said. "You can see for yourself when we get there."

"What the hell is going on?" Clint asked, standing as Natasha walked past him into the bedroom.

"He hasn't slept in four days," Natasha said. "He was asleep when I left, but he looked terrible. He'd been drinking, and he's not doing so well."

"So? He'll get over it," Clint said. "I just got home."

"What if he tries something?" Natasha said, coming back out of the bedroom.

"You honestly think he'd hurt himself?"

"Maybe," she said.

Clint sighed, knowing he was beat. There was no arguing with Nat when she made up her mind. She had a soft spot for hard-luck cases. He was one of them; it was one of the reasons why they got along so well. They understood each other, sometimes it scared him, and he knew this time he was along for the ride. Maybe she was right and Rogers did need a little company. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

He shrugged into his coat, following Nat out. At least they had each other; Stark had Pepper, and Banner hung out with Stark all the time. Rogers had no one.

And a little later when Nat was pounding on the door to Rogers' apartment and he answered, Clint admitted to himself she was right. Rogers looked like hell, and smelled like a brewery. Rogers didn't ask them in, Nat just walked in like she owned the place, Clint following her in, knowing when he was backup.

"I'm glad you're awake," Natasha said. "Get dressed."

Rogers blinked, frowning.

"What are doing here?" he asked.

"Coming to collect you," Natasha said. "Do you have a bag somewhere?"

"Closet in the bedroom," Rogers said, watching as Natasha went into his room, digging out the bag and started taking down some of his clothes and stuffing them in the duffel.

"Don't just stand there," she said. "Get dressed. Grab your coat. You're coming with us."

"Why?" Rogers said. "Is something going on?"

"Cap, don't argue with her," Clint said. "Just do as she says. You will not win. Trust me, I know."

Five minutes later, Rogers was huddled in the backseat of a cab with Clint and Natasha, wondering what the hell he was doing. It was freezing cold outside, and despite the relative warmth inside the cab, and Natasha's proximity, he was trying to keep from shaking.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Fine," Rogers said, looking away from her, out the window, missing the glance passing between her and Clint.

And when they pulled up in front of Stark Tower, he didn't argue as they got out. Natasha didn't know if Rogers' resignation came from his exhaustion, but it was uncharacteristic behavior for him. Clint grabbed his bag for him, and they headed toward the elevator, Natasha looping one of her arms through Rogers'.

"We decided you could use some company," she said.

"You're staying with us," Clint said. "No arguments."

"I'm fine," Rogers said. "And I don't want to impose."

"Stark imposes," Natasha said. "You're too proud and stubborn to ask for help."

"I deserved that," Rogers said. "Thank you."

Fifteen minutes later, he was once again spooned against Natasha in bed, but she was sandwiched between himself and Barton. What the hell was he going to do with his teammates?

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Rogers almost panicked. It was dark, and he was in unfamiliar surroundings. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he took a deep breath, remembering where he was-Natasha and Clint's apartment. But at the moment, he was alone. He saw a sliver of light pouring into the room from the cracked door. He rolled off the bed, walking into the living room. Clint was playing a video game. He looked up from the game as Rogers sat down on the other end of the couch.

"I can't sleep when Nat's gone, so I play games," Clint said, handing him a controller. "You might like this one. It's about a super soldier who's the last of his kind fighting an alien menace out to destroy humanity."

"Sounds familiar," Rogers said.

"It's called 'Halo,'" Clint said.

"Where's Natasha?" Rogers asked.

"She's at headquarters helping clean up what could potentially become a bigger problem," Clint said. "I don't know all the details. She's pinch-hitting for Coulson since Fury's not letting him come back to work full-time yet."

"How is Agent Coulson?" Rogers said.

"OK, I guess," Clint said. "Game now, work later."

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Two days Rogers spends with Natasha and Clint, then he's being handed off to, of all people, Tony Stark. Natasha ignores the pleading look on his face as Clint holds the elevator for her, but she knows it's for the best. He can't sleep without someone being there with him. Giving Rogers a hug, she turns and goes. Another day, another assignment.

And then Rogers is alone with Tony Stark.

"Cap, take your coat off. Want a drink?" Stark said.

"I don't want anything," Rogers said.

"I understand the not sleeping thing," Stark said. "I know what that's like. After the whole cave thing. . ."

"Can I go?" Rogers said.

"Like back to your apartment? No, sorry," Stark said. "Natasha thinks you need a little company, and from the sound of it, so do I."

"I'm fine," Rogers said.

"One word captain spangles-liability," Stark said. "Need me to define it for you? It's going to be you if you don't listen. We need you at your best. If anything happened to one of us and it was your fault, you'd brood yourself to death. So you're staying over. Hell, it could be fun."

"I'm sleeping better, and I don't need a babysitter," Rogers said. Tony Stark was not going to be the voice of reason. He was right, but he was not going to tell him that.

"I can go way over your head on this one, Cap" Stark said. "We're supposed to contact Fury or Coulson if we need anything. I think this qualifies. I'll have Coulson over here so fast. . ."

"He's still on light duty, and doesn't need to be bothered," Rogers said.

"Oh, I don't think he'd be bothered by this at all," Stark said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rogers said.

"Calm down," Stark said. "You want dinner?"

"I could use something to eat," Rogers said.

"Good. Then we can go down to the lab and I can show you the armor designs I'm working on," Stark said.

"That sounds fine," Rogers said, resigning himself to his circumstances.

Through dinner, Stark does most of the talking, and Rogers lets him, more grateful for the company than he can admit. He goes on about Pepper, the other towers they have planned, Banner and their joint research, and anything else he can think about. Which is plenty. Rogers wonders if Stark ever stops thinking. But that's probably why he drinks-to silence the voices in his head, or memories, or whatever. A luxury he no longer has. And Stark snaps him out of the funk by grabbing him by the arm and dragging him down to the lab. Except he's still exhausted, and Stark picks up on it.

"Natasha told me everything," Stark said. "About how you're not sleeping, but you can with if somebody's with you. Which is why you're here."

"I am not sharing a bed with you," Rogers said.

"You shared with Natasha and Barton, so I think you've gotten over the prude and kink factors," Stark said. "Or you're just so damn tired you don't care anymore."

Rogers glared.

"See? You have nothing to say," Stark said. "I win."

Again, Stark won't take no for an answer, leave him alone and let him sleep in the guest room. He's being railroaded by another teammate, and dragged into Stark's own bedroom.

"Do you know how much the paparazzi would pay to take a picture of this room?" Stark said, turning down the covers.

"Do I care?" Rogers said, climbing into the huge bed, turning away from Stark. Except Stark is right there beside him.

"Where do you want me?" he asked. "Scooch over. You're going to fall off the edge."

"That's the idea," Rogers said.

"You find me that repulsive?" Stark said.

"No. Just weird. Not you, this. . ."

He spooned up against Rogers.

"How's that?"

"Fine."

"Your virtue is safe with me," Stark said. "Besides, you're not my type."

"That's good to know," Rogers muttered.

"I've bunked with Rhodey so many times I've lost count," Stark said. "Rhodey did this for me after I got back from Afghanistan, so it won't hurt me to help you out."

"Thanks, but can you shut up?" Rogers asked.

"I could, but what fun is that?" Stark said. "Seriously, though-you shared with Clint and Natasha, and you didn't even cop a feel when you had a chance?"

Rogers elbowed him in the stomach.

"I take that as a no," Stark said. "You need to lighten up."

He raised up, pecking Rogers on the cheek. "Good night," he said.

88888

SHIELD Agent Phillip Coulson stifled a yawn. 7 a.m. Not so early, but he was on light duty, still recovering from his injuries and he was dealing with Tony Stark. Well, waiting for Stark to make an appearance. Coulson had a meeting at SHIELD headquarters at 8, but it was going to take time to get across town, considering the weather. Maybe he should approach Fury about moving the Avengers' base of operations to Stark's tower. It made sense-Natasha, Clint, Stark and Banner all lived there, the building had space to expand and everything else they needed.

The agent's thoughts were sidelined in an instant, however.

Coulson blinked as he saw Steve Rogers enter the living room, towel wrapped around his middle, dripping from the shower. What the hell was Rogers doing here, he thought? Stark entered the room, watching with interest as the SHIELD agent had eyes only for his idol. The interest changed to alarm as he noted the look of murder in the agent's eyes as he glared his way, then went back to staring at Rogers, pulling at his tie as he did. Heh. Coulson was getting hot and bothered.

"Captain Rogers," Coulson said.

"Hey Phil, want some breakfast?" Stark asked.

"No thanks," he said. "Fury sent me a brief on your proposed project, and we need to set up a time to discuss it."

"Next week work?" Stark said. "You stopped by just to tell tell me that?"

"That's fine," Coulson said. "And no, I wanted to check in on you. I know how agents Barton and Romanov are getting on, but I wanted to make sure you're staying out of trouble."

His gaze jumped from Rogers and back to Stark as he said it.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Coulson asked.

"Nope. Not right now, but I'll call you later today," Stark said. "There is something we need to talk about."

"All right," Coulson said. "I'll have time this afternoon."

"Talk to you then," Stark said.

"See you, Coulson," Rogers said.

Coulson left without a backward glance.

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"


	3. Chapter 3

Touch

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Stark left Rogers watching television, satisfied his temporary roommate wasn't going to flee at first opportunity. He went down to the lab, finding Banner already hard at work. The other scientist ignored him as he let himself in, pouring himself a cup of coffee and perching on the counter beside Banner.

"What do you want?" Banner asked.

"There's something I need you to do," Stark said.

"What?" Banner asked.

"It's a medical issue," Stark said. "One I'm not qualified to deal with."

"You're going to need a new liver, and that's something I can't help you with," Banner said. "Unless you want to experiment with cloning a healthy liver."

"It's not me—it's Rogers," Stark said. "But that's not a bad idea."

"What's wrong with Rogers?" Banner asked, looking up from his work.

"He's not sleeping," Stark said. "Well, he kind of is now, but not without someone with him. He hadn't slept for four days before Natasha found out what was wrong."

"What do you want me to do about it? You've fixed the problem, right?" Banner asked.

"His body will heal itself, but what about him? This is really messing with his head," Stark said. "He's lost so much, has all this stuff running through his head. He can't get drunk, he can't find any relief, so what's the guy supposed to do?"

"I'll talk to him when I have time," Banner said. "Will that work?"

"Sure," Stark said. "But I think I might've found something that will help, and I want your opinion-you should've seen the way Coulson was looking at him."

"No," Banner said. "You're not going to interfere. What about that cellist Coulson was seeing? I think you're hallucinating. Rogers is a living legend. Everybody at SHIELD headquarters is still in awe of the guy." "The cellist is history," Stark said. "Phil tried starting things back up, but she wouldn't have it."

"Coulson isn't into guys," Banner said.

"He's into Rogers," Stark said.

"That doesn't mean anything," Banner said. "When Rogers pounds your face into mush, don't come crawling to me to patch you up."

"It won't come to that," Stark said.

"Hopefully not," Banner said. "Either help me here or go play with Rogers."

"He's watching Turner Classic Movies," Stark said. "He's good for a few hours. There's a John Wayne marathon on today."

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Rogers felt better. Less on edge, more rested than he had in days. He was still tired, but it wasn't as bad as before. And he wasn't alone, Jarvis was there if he needed him. The idea of an intelligent, disembodied voice creeped him out in the beginning, but the AI's presence was comforting now. Stark wasn't far away, nor was Banner. His friends were there if he needed them. Rogers was getting used to the idea of asking for help. He was Captain America, leader of the Avengers, but at the moment, he was just Steve Rogers, that kid from Brooklyn one more time. A kid with what the SHIELD shrinks called abandonment issues. He'd talked to them in the beginning about his problems, but talking to them didn't help, and the pills they suggested would not work on him. The changes to his body wrought by the super soldier serum made it impossible for the drugs to work. Sometimes, in the back of his mind, he even wondered if he was still back in the ice, and the so-called real world wasn't just an illusion he conjured up. That thought kept him awake at night, along with the memories of everything he'd seen and done during the war, and the faces of loved ones lost. Except the world he woke to was far stranger than anything he could ever imagine. Fury was right about that. The good far outstripped the bad, Rogers kept telling himself. He was needed, he had people who cared for him, people he considered friends. His teammates. People he would gladly die for. But the real question was would he live for them?

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It was supposed to be a simple op. Go in, eliminate the target, remove pertinent data and get out. Except in SHIELD Director Nick Fury's experience, "simple" rarely stayed that way. He was monitoring the situation on the ground, but decided contacting Coulson was probably a good idea. The agent was headed his way, a questioning look on his face.

"What's going on?" Coulson asked. "We lost contact with Agents Romanov and Barton two hours ago," Fury said.

"Why didn't you call me in then?" Coulson said.

"Because two hours ago I wasn't worried," Fury said.

"But you are now," Coulson said. "Where are they?"

"Singapore," Fury said. "Those rumors about somebody trying to replicate Hydra technology proved to be true. It was high priority, considering how we're still cleaning up after everything that happened with the tesseract."

"That's why you sent Romanov and Barton," Coulson said.

"I would've sent you, but until you get medical clearance, I want you where I can see you," Fury said.

But Coulson didn't say anything. He was reaching into his jacket for his phone, flipping it open.

"Coulson here," he said.

"It's me, Romanov."

"Natasha, what is it?" Coulson said.

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Natasha, are you there?"

"It's Clint," she said. "He didn't make it."

"Where are you? Are you safe?"

"For now," she said.

Fury hit a few buttons on the screen at his work station, nodding to Coulson.

"We have your coordinates, and I'm sending someone to get you," he said.

"OK."

Then the line went dead.

Coulson stood there, staring at his phone.

"What is it?" Fury asked.

"Barton. He's dead."

"Coulson, go home," Fury said. Coulson's gaze wavered just an instant, but it was long enough for Fury to know how shaken the agent was. Too damn soon for any of them to be dealing with this. "Do you want me to tell them?"

"No, sir. I'll take care of it," Coulson said, standing.

"You don't have to," Fury said. "I'll take care of the rest myself."

"Thank you, sir," Coulson said, pocketing his phone, shouldering into his coat. He left the command center, riding the elevator down in silence. He walked outside into the frigid night, knowing he could've saved himself the trouble and expense of a cab, but he didn't want a SHIELD driver taking him to Stark Tower. The news he had to deliver was personal, and best coming from him, considering how much and how well the team dealt with Fury of late. That was why Fury was slowly handing him the reins of the Avengers Initiative, and not Hill. The team trusted him, liked him, and considered him one of them, especially after how Fury used him.

Coulson still hadn't forgiven Fury for it, but he understood his logic. He gave them the push they needed, when they needed it most. Fury was still using Coulson and the Avengers, but he was trying to take a more hands-off approach, giving them the distance and autonomy they needed to work. That still didn't make up for everything, and what had just happened. Why the hell hadn't Fury selected someone else? An important op, but one not beyond their capabilities. Barton was gone, and Natasha. . .Christ, what were they going to do?

Coulson scrubbed at his face, weary and exhausted, and not looking forward to the next couple of hours. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing Stark.

"Stark, it's Coulson. . .I'm on my way over, I know it's late. . .yes. Just have them there, too."

He ended the call, grateful for no snark from the other man. The the cab was pulling up in front of the tower. Coulson paid the driver, exiting the car, standing out on the curb a few moments. Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the building. Another long elevator ride up, and it delivered him to Stark's penthouse. Coulson stepped into the apartment where Banner, Stark and Rogers were waiting for him.

"I'm sorry for bothering you all so late," Coulson said. No preamble, he reminded himself. No this is going to be hard or terrible. He just got to the point.

"Clint and Natasha were on assignment, but you know that. . .Clint's dead." There. He said it. "We're currently in the process of locating Natasha and bringing her home."

Rogers stood. "You can't just send anyone to get her," he said. "Why aren't you going? I'll go."

"I can have you on quinjet in 15 minutes," Coulson said. "Fury wants me here, but I have no objections to you going."

"I'll go," Banner said. "You're staying. You and I need to have a talk when I get back. You know why you can't go."

Rogers glared, but he sat back down, looking defeated. Coulson knew something was going on, but he didn't have time to deal with it at the moment.

"Dr. Banner, if you'll come with me," Coulson said. Banner grabbed his coat, following the agent out.

"He'll bring her home safe," Stark said, sitting down by Rogers. "You know you can trust Phil."

"I know," Rogers said. "But Natasha. . .what is this going to do to her?"

"I don't know," Stark said, wondering the same thing himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Touch

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Rogers doesn't sleep. He listens while Stark talks and drinks, and is more than a little relieved when Stark finally passes out on the couch a couple of hours later. One of their own is gone. It's not the first time Rogers has lost someone, and he knows it won't be the last. The news of Barton's death is so new, his loss is something that hasn't quite set in yet. It will, Rogers knows. And when it does, he'll relive them all, the deaths of those under his command, the one he doesn't want to play over—Bucky's death. The cycle will start over again now. No sleep. No rest. No respite. He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair, looking over at Stark. He's asleep. He'll wake in a few hours, hung over and manic with no Pepper or Banner to temper his emotions. Instead, it will fall to Rogers. He's done this before, but he doesn't like it. He hates watching Stark's self-destructive behavior, knowing he can't stop it.

He knows it will only stop when Stark has had enough. When will he? How long can he last? How long can any of them last, knowing the end could come for them each as easily as it did for Barton? But Rogers knows he'll keep fighting until he can't anymore, even if the struggle is just to get out of bed in the morning, or to even fall asleep. He covers Stark with a throw, sits down in a nearby chair, picking up a magazine. He'll keep watch. He can do that much. Except Jarvis interrupts his thoughts.

"Sir, Agent Coulson is requesting entry to the penthouse. Should I tell him to come back in the morning?" Jarvis asked.

"No. Let him in," Rogers said. He doesn't stand as the SHIELD agent enters the apartment.

Coulson takes off his coat, sitting down in the chair across from Rogers.

"I hope you don't mid," Coulson said. "I can't sleep."

"Neither can I," Rogers said.

"Stark doesn't seem to have a problem with it," Coulson said, nodding toward Stark's sleeping form.

"He had help from a bottle of vodka," Rogers said. "I wish I could say the same."

"Not sleeping?" Coulson said.

"No," Rogers said, wanting to change the subject. "How long will it be before Natasha is home?"

"It'll be a few more hours before Banner gets there, but she's safe," Coulson said. "A couple of days at least, with travel and everything. She'll have to be de-briefed, then it's up to Fury what happens next."

"Do you trust Fury?" Rogers asked.

"I trust him with my life," Coulson said.

"We know how well that worked out, don't we?" Rogers said.

"I'm still here, right?" Coulson said.

"Fury lied to us," Rogers said. "We're supposed to trust him, and he used you. How do I know he's not still using you?"

"He's using all of us," Coulson said. "Like it or not, Capt. Rogers, you're part of SHIELD now. If you want to walk away, you'll find it very hard to eliminate those ties."

"Coulson, is that a threat?" Rogers said, standing.

"It's the truth," Coulson said.

"I'm part of the Avengers, not SHIELD," Rogers said.

"Initiated by SHIELD, and though I know you're trying to distance yourself and the other Avengers from SHIELD, it's not going to happen overnight," Coulson said. "It's going to take time. You're going to have to be patient and trust me."

"Then no more sending us off on errands for Fury," Rogers said.

Coulson stood himself, rising up to his full height, which was nowhere near Rogers', but he wasn't going to back down.

"You can't negotiate with Fury," Coulson said. "You're a soldier. You're supposed to follow orders."

"What happened to transparency and trust?" Rogers said. "We're just supposed to blindly follow orders?"

"I didn't say that," Coulson said. "The world has changed, Captain, and you're just going to have to accept that."

"Some things shouldn't change," Rogers said.

"Personally, I agree with that sentiment, but that's not how things work now," Coulson said. "Not everyone or everything can live up to the ideals of the past. This world has lost something that maybe you can help it replace."

"Do you really believe that?" Rogers said.

"I do," Coulson said.

"You believe in an ideal," Rogers said. "I hope you're not talking about me."

"I'm not talking about Captain America," Coulson said. "I believe in Steve Rogers, for what it's worth. Look, I'm sorry I've upset you. I'll go. . ."

"I'm sorry, too," Rogers said. "Barton was a good man."

"One of the best, and the first agent I ever recruited," Coulson said. "He was my friend. Too bad I never told him how much I appreciated that."

"I think he knew," Rogers said. "You should go home, get some rest."

"I will," Coulson said. "You should rest, too. But can you keep Stark from doing anything stupid?"

"Already on it," Rogers said.

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Banner sat across from Natasha on the quinjet as it made its way to the SHIELD helicarrier. She said she was fine, but he knew she wasn't. She sat, silent, staring at the ground, hugging herself. He'd long since given up trying to get her to talk. They hadn't yet recovered Barton's body, but Natasha said there was no doubt he was dead. She'd watched him die, the light fading from his eyes.

Banner reached for her, gently touching her shoulder. She pulled back.

"Natasha, it's OK," he said. "We'll be landing in a few minutes. Hill is going to de-brief you, then I can take you home. Not too much longer. Just stay with me, all right? Can you do that for me?"

She finally looked up, meeting his eyes. She nodded her head "yes."

A few minutes later, the quinjet touched down, and Banner followed Natasha out onto the deck, where Sitwell was waiting.

"Hill is waiting for you two," he said. "Follow me."

Hill was waiting in a small conference room off the bridge, and asked Banner not so kindly to wait outside. He paced, eventually giving up, leaning against the wall in the corridor, waiting. But then he heard raised voices—Natasha screaming at Hill. He couldn't make out the words, but the intent was enough. He pounded on the door until Hill opened it.

"This is over," Banner said. "I'll call Fury if I have to, but you're done with Natasha. I'm taking her home. She's been through enough. I'll help her write a report if it'll satisfy protocol, and I'll hand deliver it to you."

Hill started to say something, but she knew better than to anger the man in front of her. They were still repairing the damage he'd done to the carrier the first time. Banner shouldered past Hill into the room, grabbing Natasha by the arm. "We're going home," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. This time she didn't shrink away.

88888


	5. Chapter 5

Touch

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Three days later

They hold a wake at Stark's apartment. It's just the Avengers themselves, Pepper, Fury, Coulson and Hill. It doesn't last long, as Natasha is the first to leave, and eventually, the others follow. Rogers uses it as an opportunity to pack up his things and go back to his apartment. He knows Pepper and Banner will keep an eye on Stark, and Pepper promises to check on Natasha for him. He can imagine what she's going through, because he's been there himself, and respects her and her grief enough to let her have her privacy for the moment. So he grabs his bag, heading downstairs to his waiting cab.

Twenty minutes later, he's inside his apartment, waiting for a pot of coffee to brew and half-listening to hockey scores on ESPN. He can blame Coulson for his interest in hockey, mainly the Rangers. It's something to follow when baseball isn't in season, and the team is doing well (for once). Maybe a game would be a good team-bonding exercise for his fellow Avengers. He scribbles a reminder to himself on the magnetic notepad Pepper gave him, which is stuck to the refrigerator. Something normal. Considering how well things are going, they could all use a little normal.

Then Rogers' phone is ringing, and he answers it, surprised it's Banner.

"When did you sneak off?" the doctor said.

"I didn't think anyone would notice," Rogers answered.

"Well, thanks to some Xanax, Tony isn't coming over there to haul you back," Banner said. "I should come get you in his place."

"I'm fine," Rogers said.

"We have enough to deal with, and you with sleep deprivation is not something I want to experience," Banner said. "I've already had to lecture Coulson about not sleeping. He's already overworking himself on some file Natasha brought back from Singapore."

"The Hydra technology?" Rogers said.

"Not just that," Banner said. "We probably shouldn't discuss it on an open line. Come back over tomorrow and I'll tell you what I know."

"OK," Rogers said. "See you then."

He ends the call, grabs a mug of coffee and sits down on the couch. He has nothing better to do than hope the drone of the television can put him to sleep.

Then it's 2:30 a.m. and there's someone knocking at the door, and Rogers trips over the coffee table in the dark, trying to get to the door. He slides the deadbolt, opening the door, surprised to see Natasha standing out in the hall.

"Can I come in?" she said.

He nods, and she follows him in, and he flips on the light.

"I can't sleep," Natasha said. "I didn't think you'd mind if I came over."

"I don't mind at all," Rogers said. "Want to talk?"

"Not really," she said. "I've been out walking. . .I couldn't stay in that apartment with all of Clint's things there."

"It's all right," Roger said, watching as Natasha sat down on the couch.

"I just don't want to be alone," she said, resting her head in her hands.

Rogers sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, leaning into his touch. He held her, not knowing what to say.

88888

SHIELD Agent Phil Coulson sat at his desk, skimming the files on his computer screen. It was almost 0300, and he knew he was facing a lecture from Fury and Banner in the morning about pushing himself too hard. Someone had to, and Fury wouldn't trust the data Natasha retrieved to just anyone. He was sifting through the Cold War-era files when something caught his attention-repeated mentions of something called Project Winter Soldier. Coulson frowned, reading further, realizing it had something to do with the former Soviet Union's efforts to recreate the super soldier serum used on Rogers.

He sighed, making a quick call to Fury, telling the SHIELD director they needed to talk. And of course, Fury reprimanded him, telling him to get some sleep, that. Coulson turned off the computer, scribbled himself a note to ask Natasha if she had ever heard of the project, and turned in.

88888

Natasha lay awake, Rogers' arms wrapped around her. His presence was comforting, but also a reminder of what was gone. It just was not the same, and nothing ever would be again. She accepted the fact Clint was gone. Nothing would change it, but she kept seeing the face of the man who killed him. Clint had died for her, so she could get away, back to SHIELD with the information they were sent to retrieve.

The irony was how such a simple op went so wrong. They should've pulled out when they found their mark dead, but no, they pressed on, when her instincts were telling her they should run. Was it her fault Clint was gone? She wasn't ready to face that possibility yet.


	6. Chapter 6

Touch

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. They belong to Marvel/Disney.

Natasha wakes to the gray light of dawn filtering in. Rogers is asleep beside her, and she slides out from beneath the covers, at a loss at what to do. She can't sleep anymore, so she contents herself with looking at the pictures hanging on Rogers' bedroom wall. There are several art prints, but what catches her eye is the old photo of Rogers and his Howling Commandos from the war. Natasha smiles, the first time since before Clint's death. The photo was a house-warming gift from Stark. She knows the names of all the men in the photo with Rogers, after all, how could she not, as she works with Phil Coulson, SHIELD's resident expert on all things World War II and Captain America. But she frowns, looking at one face in the picture because it's the face from her nightmares. She drops the photo, the glass from the frame shatters, waking Rogers.

"Natasha, what's wrong?" he asks, sitting up, noticing the broken glass. She's clutching the picture.

"Nothing," she said. "I have to go."

She dresses quickly, folding the picture, shoving it into her bag. She calls a cab on the way downstairs and minutes later is on her way to Coulson's. He's the only one who can tell her she's wrong, that she was seeing things. And then she's standing on the steps to his brownstone, texting him he'd better let her in despite the early hour, and he buzzes her in.

Coulson frowns as he lets her into his apartment, but the frown fades to concern when he sees the look on her face—she's pale and clearly anxious. Two characteristics that do not ever describe Natasha Romanov.

"What's wrong, Natasha?" he said.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to talk," she said, opening her bag, taking out the picture she took from Rogers' apartment.

"Well, I am glad you're here. I've been going over the files you brought back from Singapore, and there's something I wanted to ask you about," Coulson said. "But you go first."

"I know I told you during the debriefing I couldn't identify the man we fought," Natasha said. "Either I'm going crazy, or a dead man is alive, because this is him."

She held up the photo, pointing to the face of one James "Bucky" Barnes."

"Natasha, that's not. . ."  
"Possible? We fought aliens from another planet. We have a super soldier from another time fighting for us. Oh no, it's possible, just improbable," Natasha said.

"OK," Coulson said, sitting down on the couch. He could operate under the assumption that Natasha was right. "Last night, I kept finding references to something called Project Winter Soldier. It has something to do with the Soviet attempts to recreate the super soldier serum. Have you ever heard of it?"  
"Rumors, but nothing more," Natasha said. "I can search through the SHIELD database and see if I can find out more."

"You're supposed to be on leave," Coulson said.

"And you're still on light duty," Natasha said. "Let me help you with this. It'll give me something to do."

"All right," Coulson said. "I can arrange to have a courier send over some of the Cold War-era stuff if you want to go over hard copies today. That is, if you don't have anything better to do."

"Let me run back to my apartment and clean up and change," she said.

"Not a problem," Coulson said. "Just don't mention what we're working on to Rogers."

"I won't," Natasha said.


End file.
